Dear Friends,

It has been a long time since we have written an update. We laughed at the opening sentence of a handwritten letter we received this week from our dear and gifted goddaughter Madeleine Canavese, whose opening line was “I hope dying is going well.” As you can see she is learning to accept death as a part of life! 

And yes, overall, we can say that dying is going well. Its mysterious ways continue. One doctor estimated that I would not live past December 2023, but I am still here. I don't feel proud that I "proved her wrong," because no one really knows. I do not expect to make a departure soon. There are not many new symptoms to report except a steady decrease in energy over time and the need to use my walker wherever I go. I spend a lot of my time taking naps, just sitting or watching tv. We treasure the few pieces of mail we receive each week. We show up regularly at gatherings on zoom of our Buddhist sangha meditation group, our Centering Prayer group and online church services. I try to respond to all texts and emails.

A real joy recently has been the wonderful responses to “Long Journey Home” the little book of my poetry we recently published.

I am surrounded by so much caring and competent attention.  Sharon, of course, is my faithful, loving helpmate. Hospice nurse Misty comes every Tuesday. Treasured brothers from the Illuman Men’s movement I am a part of have been present in many ways. If I live with a lot more tiredness than I would prefer, I also live with virtually no pain. With my trusted walker. I can still get to the post office, library and supermarkets in our neighborhood where so much is within walking distance. And friends in a drumming group from the Tacoma Friends Meeting recently came to offer a time of drumming right here in our living room.

A friend and teacher, the late Marjorie McCoy, wrote a wonderful and wise book in the 1970s called “To Die With Style.” With a lot of support from you I feel like I am dying in a style that is mine, and this primarily means I am not doing it alone.

I am writing this on  the 20th Anniversary of the death of our beloved daughter Sarita Mullins-Williams who took her own life at age 20. It was an unspeakable time of loss. Many of you who are friends now were also friends then and we want to say thank you again, and to realize how time and love can smooth the sharp edges of loss.

When Sarita was in the eighth grade at St. Therese School in Seattle she wrote some wonderful poetry. I want to share here a few lines by her that give some comfort to us now. This is her unedited version just as she wrote it at age 14:

Sunsets

Sitting upon my rock installed 

in the arms of my Mother Earth. 

Whistllng to the tune of the wind 

looking upon the art of Mother Earth. 

There laid her message of love

 fluffed up by colors of 

Red, Pink, Purple and Orange. 

High above me their laid a sunset 

which Mother Earth created for you and me.

Death

Death is a gift from God 

just like life is. 

Let us not be afraid of death. 

We die so that we do not 

suffer any longer. 

We die because our bodies let go. 

We die but not our souls. 

Death lets our inner selves 

be closer to God.

Death is painful and not painful at times,

But we should not forget that 

God has them safely in his hands.

The harshness in the mystery of suicide has given way to a deep acceptance of questions that have no answers and gratitude for all that Sarita gave us.. And what has been given more recently is gratitude and peace. Our good friend Dr. David Hall, a child psychiatrist, spoke briefly at Sarita’s memorial service. He said, “please remember that the twenty years that Sarita lived was a complete life.” It was not completed in the ways we hope and expected but it was completed. But now we can remember with joy all the riches of her life, the many friendships she made, especially in her high school years, her courage and joy in being on the cross-country team when she was only four feet eleven, not built to be a runner. She loved family connections in Seattle and in Tennessee. She claimed cousins, uncles, and aunts from all over. Honduran by birth and our daughter by adoption, we were able to make contact with her birth half-sister, Amber Day, and they stayed in touch for many years. She was able  travel to Europe, Japan and to many places in the U.S. 

Now we can say with so much gratitude, “yes dear, dear Sarita, you lived a complete life and we thank you for it. You gave us so much. Now all those treasures along with our loss of you, dissolve into the Great Mystery of Love that we all belong to. Thank you dear daughter. We remember you with great love."

Much love to all of you dear friends, wherever you are,

Randall